


Changing You(r Aesthetic)

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Gen, Gounod's Faust, Kidnapping, M/M, Pre-Slash, aesthetic, kind of ooc, serenades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: “I really don’t see why you expect me to celebrate with you,” Raoul complained when Erik offered him a glass of wine. “This might be like a good night for you but actually for me it’s going pretty badly. I’m pretty sure you gave me a black eye.”Written in response to the prompt: "RAOUL RUINS THE LAIR VIBE."





	Changing You(r Aesthetic)

Originally Erik kidnapped the Vicomte de Chagny purely out of spite.

For the past three weeks, Christine had been unable to stop talking about him. Every time they practiced singing she wouldn’t stop talking about how Raoul talked to her the other day and Raoul complimented her last performance and wasn’t that nice of Raoul, she really was beginning to think he liked her.

So the night after the topic of Raoul’s Possibly Romantic Intentions and Beautiful Hair interrupted singing class five times in a row, Erik fetched himself his lasso and a small pistol and headed out to kidnap Raoul. It went about as smoothly as one could expect—which is to say, not really that smoothly at all—but when it was all over and Erik had Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny himself, tied to a chair in his office next to the organ, he had to say it was a satisfying feeling.

He poured them both a glass of wine in celebration.

“I really don’t see why you expect me to celebrate with you,” Raoul complained. “This might be like a good night for you but actually for me it’s going pretty badly. I’m pretty sure you gave me a black eye.”

“You place a lot of value on your good looks, monsieur.”

“Oh come on. Just because you’re so ugly you have to wear a mask doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t cultivate our aesthetic.”

Erik glared at Raoul. Aesthetic? As if Erik hadn’t spent something like the last ten years cultivating his own reputation and image as an opera ghost of high taste and fashion. His mask was hand crafted and had cost more than some men earned in a week, whereas Raoul’s face had come with the rest of him out of the womb. Frankly, adding a bruise was probably the most effort anyone had ever put into it.

He probably barely combed his hair. Erik wore an expensive wig that he spent twenty minutes arranging every morning.

Aesthetic.

“Your servants probably pick your clothes in the morning,” he sneered. “What does a man like you know about fashion?”

Raoul said, “Every one of my shirts, pants and coats was made for me personally by our family tailor. Where do you get your clothes? Do you steal them from guests? I hear some coats have gone missing.”

 Erik snorted. “Where would I get my pants then?”

Raoul said, “Sir, we both know this is an opera house.”

Theoretically that could have implied that Erik stole people’s costumes (which he had done on occasion) but by Raoul’s judgmental expression that was not what he meant at all.

“I buy my clothes through Madame Giry,” Erik snapped. “She is very discreet. In that and other matters. And I buy from the highest fashion lines in Paris.”

“Well, who cares about fashion?” Raoul said irritably. “It’s very shallow of you, really. Surely an Angel of Music should have larger concerns.”

“I was not the one who began discussing the discoloration of my facial features.”

“I wasn’t even talking about that, I meant it fucking hurts. I don’t suppose you have any ice? Or just a cold wet rock, the lake we crossed seemed to have a lot of them.”

Erik said, “I am not going back out when we just came in.”

“Fine. Fine. We’re in for the night, is that it? What did you kidnap me for anyway?”

Erik said, “That, monsieur, is for me to know and for you to find out.” Or possibly not to find out. Erik’s current displeasure with Christine was none of Raoul’s business, even if it had led to his current captivity.”

“Fine. You won’t explain anything. Are you going to give me a drink or not?” Raoul said.

“Thought you didn’t want any.”

“I’m thirsty.”

Erik sighed and gave Raoul the drink, pouring it into his mouth since the man’s hands were tied. He poured it at the wrong angle and ended up spilling half of it on Raoul’s shirt.

Aesthetic.

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Christine did not mention Raoul’s absence at all the next day. She only gushed about how the day before Raoul had come to her show and given her roses, and Erik, weren’t they beautiful, and wasn’t Raoul a Gentleman, and wasn’t this a sign that things between them had Gotten Serious? Red roses, after all, symbolized love.

“They’re unoriginal,” Erik said.

“They’re classic. Classic symbols of true romance and passion. Like Raoul and I have for each other,” Christine said dreamily. “He hasn’t really said he loves me yet but I can kind of feel it, you know?”

“Half your admirers have brought you roses, and a lot of them have been red.”

“Yes, but I don’t like any of them. I mean, I’ve hardly spoken to them—certainly I don’t know them personally. And I’m sure it’s just a sign of respect.”

“I’ve brought you red roses,” Erik pointed out.

Christine laughed.

Erik did not bring up the Vicomte’s disappearance. Frankly, he worried it might sound a bit suspicious.

* * *

 

Raoul, meanwhile, was being a total nuisance. Once the novelty of having the Vicomte a captive in his house wore off, Erik found that keeping a Vicomte was a lot like trying to keep a troublesome human-sized pet. Apart from one misadventure with a cat he’d never tried keeping a pet down here, and he was beginning to remember the reasons for it.

He had to bring Raoul to the bathroom. He had to manually feed him. He had to check to make sure the ropes weren’t too tight. He had to put ointment on Raoul’s wrists because Raoul complained that the ropes were giving him sores. And he had to watch with a pistol while Raoul washed and changed clothes because he wasn’t going to have a filthy man stinking up his house. And maybe out of spite he gave Raoul clothes that were way too big and had patches on them but that was completely justified because Raoul was being even more of an annoyance than these necessities already caused him.

“Your music is terrible,” Raoul told him that night.

Erik said, “My music talent is the only reason Miss Daae has a voice.”

“Maybe, but your music is terrible. My God. What are you even playing?”

Erik had spent the last fifteen minutes playing the overture from _Faust_ , which Raoul had seen multiple times. Erik knew this because Christine usually played Siebel in Faust and she had commented on his presence every single time he showed up.

“So?” Raoul said.

“Well, I’m merely surprised that after hearing it so many times you would not recognize it.”

Raoul sighed. “My friend, I am surprised myself—that you would think such a thing! I am no aficionado of music. In fact, I am only in Paris until my naval commission…no doubt Philippe would recognize it. Myself, I go to the opera to see Christine. I’m sure I would recognize one of her songs.”

“And before you knew Christine was there?”

“Well…” Raoul shrugged. “You know. There were many pretty opera girls. Philippe thought I needed culture…”

Erik stared at him. He had often seen nobles lacking any true artistic, but he rarely put up with them in his opera house, and he had thought Christine’s choice of lover at least would have better taste than that. “You are disgusting, monsieur.”

“And yet I have succeeded in making you stop playing. I think I actually do remember that song now…I hated it every time.”

“If you hate music, do not come to the Opera Populaire,” Erik said severely. He crashed his hands down onto the organ keys, dissonantly booming his displeasure at Raoul, who screwed up his face immediately and tried to yell something at Erik that Erik couldn’t hear.

After a solid minute, Erik paused. “What did you say?” he asked serenely.

“I said that that music is even worse!”

“That wasn’t even music!”

“You were playing on your organ, what else could it be?”

A fit of temper. Somewhat immature, really. Most people didn’t anger Erik as easily as Raoul did. He should have known Raoul would be this frustrating sheerly from Christine’s obsession, but he had somehow imagined Raoul being somewhat smarter, more like Erik. Why? Because he hoped Christine would fall in love with someone like him? Because he assumed everyone at the opera was somewhat like him?

He sighed. “Fine, monsieur. What kind of music do you prefer?”

“I like music that has words. I like love songs.”

“You want me to sing you a love song?”

Raoul reconsidered. “That might be a bit strange.”

“Here. I’ll sing you ‘Le Veau d’Or’. Admittedly it is not a song Christine sings but perhaps you’ll be able to tolerate it.” After tuning his voice for a minute, Erik began to sing. “Parmi vous, de grace. Permittez-moi de prende place…”

“The devil song, of course you’d like it,” Raoul muttered. But he sat silent and paid very close attention, and Erik flattered himself that he seemed to be enjoying it.

* * *

 

The daroga, of course, was the first to actually suspect a kidnapping. Or at least, Erik assumed that was why he was stalking Erik with more ardor than usual. Though with a man like that, who could tell?

It was just as possible that he’d decided some drama in the costuming department was Erik’s fault and he wanted to complain to Erik about that.

Still, Erik made a conscious effort to avoid him. If he had caught on to what was going on with Raoul (whose disappearance had at least now been noted by his family, judging by Philippe’s worried demeanor of late), than he would be very annoying. He would ask for Erik to let Raoul go.

And for some reason, although Raoul’s absence was having absolutely no effect on Christine, Erik didn’t feel like doing that at all.

* * *

 

“This is a better outfit than you’ve given me before,” Raoul said. It had been a week since The Kidnapping and Erik had finally given him a nice suit, partly just so his looks wouldn’t clash so much with the wallpaper. “Am I growing on you?”

“Absolutely not,” Erik said. “Not even slightly. You’re still disgusting. Complete trash. How dare you even talk to Christine, you utter nincompoop! For that matter, how dare you talk to me!”

“I didn’t ask to talk to you,” Raoul grumbled. “In any case, I think all that’s a bit harsh.”

Raoul’s black eye had mostly healed by now, and with his hygiene moderately well cared for and a decent outfit, he looked all right. Unfortunately that did not change the fact that his taste in everything except opera girls was terrible, and considering Christine had yet to complain of his being missing, Erik was beginning to doubt his taste even in that.

“You know, I hadn’t brought it up because I was trying to be polite…”

“How kind of you. Please continue…”

“But all your food is kind of terrible.”

Erik clenched his fists. “You may not be aware of this, but I do not cook my own food. Most of it is either bought in town or brought down here by Madame Giry. Which is very kind of her.” Which was why it was mostly brown bread, cheese, and occasionally soup or a pre-cooked pie. He had plenty of fine wines, though, which was what nobility really cared about, right? Liquor.

“I mean, no doubt, but it’s still terrible.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have the accommodations of the de Chagny estate then,” Erik said sarcastically. “You may not have noticed this, but this house is located in a cave. You are lucky I even have an oven to heat our food up! Or working pipes, for that matter.”

“You should let me cook.”

“What?”

“Our cook taught me how to make some simple dishes when I was a child. Philippe hasn’t let me cook in some time because I am a man of society, but…” Raoul shrugged. “This is not society. Besides, I fear I have been an utterly useless captive. I might as well do something.”

“You’d probably try and stab me with one of the knives.”

“I could make something that does not require knives.”

“Ha! There is very little good food that does not.”

Raoul shrugged gloomily. He did not expand on his thought any further, but stared at the wallpaper. Erik sighed and brought him his dinner. It had been a long day and while the casserole was admittedly terrible (Madame Giry’s four day leftovers were never fine cuisine), he hoped it would rouse Raoul somewhat. It did not.

“What is wrong with you? Usually you’d at least be complaining.”

“I’m not telling you.”

So it was something. “Come now. You’ll make me feel I am a bad host.”

“You are a horrible host and if I tell you, you’re going to make fun of me.”

“I won’t,” Erik said. When Raoul stared at him, he amended, “I will. But I’ll make fun of you anyways if you don’t tell me so you might as well get it off your chest. Go on.”

Raoul said, “There’s a performance of _Faust_ tonight and I can’t go.”

“Well, you hate half the music already.”

“Christine’s in it!”

Erik frowned. Raoul was beginning to turn red, something he had not done since the exertion from the initial kidnapping, not even with the embarrassment of Erik helping him bathe or with anger at his imprisonment.

“Calm yourself. Christine has been in many operas, has she not?”

“Yes, but I always go to Faust because she loves the role of Siebel,” Raoul said. “Which you should know if you’re her mentor. And I can’t go tonight because I’m locked up in a goddamn cellar.”

He shut his mouth decisively after that. Erik was unsure what to say. He couldn’t release Raoul because…well…because Christine hadn’t even noticed yet and it would simply be awkward.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to release Raoul just yet anyhow. But Raoul seemed sad. Until now he had been frustrated at times and angry at times and simply annoying at times, but never really sad.

Erik didn’t know what to do about that.

He wandered over to the organ and began to play. Instinctively, he began to play Christine’s song, “Faites-lui mes aveux”. Quietly he sang along with it. “Faites-lui mes aveux, portez mes vœux, fleurs écloses près d'elle, dites-lui qu'elle est belle, que mon cœur nuit et jour, languit d'amour.”

_Confess to her for me, give her my wishes, flowers that bloomed at my side. Tell her she is lovely, and that every night and day my heart pines for love of her._

Erik had often listened to Christine sing this song and pictured himself as Siebel instead, singing to the flowers for Christine. Ah, he had wished so many times, on giving her flowers or other gifts, that she would understand his love for her. Surely he was Siebel to Raoul’s Faust, destined to fail as her lover and yet so much better for her than any wealthy patron.

Now, he glanced over at Raoul. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open. He had no taste for music, but he always listened when Erik sang.

(For a victim of kidnapping, one might call him surprisingly patient. And brave. It occurred to Erik for the first time that Raoul had never seemed frightened of him. And even Christine, the first time he brought her down here, had been frightened.)

How did Raoul feel when he listened to Christine sing such a beautiful song? Did he imagine himself as Siebel as well? But he was no singer, and he had little imagination. Perhaps he thought of it as Christine singing to him, somehow transforming himself in his own mind into some wealthy, masculine Marguerite. It would have been funny except for the look on Raoul’s face as he listened to Erik singing in her stead, a small, half-sad smile.

Was he imagining himself as Marguerite now?

“Parlez pour moi!” Erik begged a bouquet of invisible flowers. “Qu'elle puisse connaître l'émoi qu'elle a fait naître, et dont mon cœur trouble n'a point parlé!”

_Speak for me! May she be acquainted with the passion she has roused, and of which my troubled heart has not breathed a word._

* * *

 

It was really a terrible idea to let Raoul cook, but Erik decided that if he did all the chopping and kept the knives at a distance it was worth the risk to cheer him up. He had been very down last night after all, and after Erik’s singing had not spoken another word of conversation. Although this morning he had been back to his usual annoying self, it still might be a good idea to do something nice. Not the sort of thing Erik usually did, but Raoul had been an exemplary captive in listening to Erik’s music, as well as his lack of escape attempts. He deserved a reward.

So Erik asked Raoul what he usually cooked and when he gloomily said that he usually liked meat pies, they were just better than the ones Erik picked up in the city, Erik nodded and went out and stole meat and the ingredients for crust from the opera house kitchen.

He then dropped in on Christine because he couldn’t let his new pet distract him from teaching his protégée. But when he arrived, she seemed to be in no mode to sing.

In fact, she was crying.

“Dear heart,” Erik said through the wall. “Is something wrong?”

Christine sobbed, “Angel! Oh, things are very bad.”

“How so?”

“It’s Raoul. The Vicomte de Chagny—you remember him, I’ve mentioned him to you a few times. I think I have, at least.”

“What about him?”

“He didn’t come to _Faust_ last night.”

Finally! Though of course it galled Erik that Raoul had been right—that night of all nights, Christine had noticed his absence—it was good to see things had finally been set in motion. “I wonder what can have happened to him,” Erik said. “He always seemed like something of an idiot. I don’t suppose he can have gotten himself in trouble?”

Christine shook her head. “Erik, I know that you’re an optimist but be serious here for a minute.”

An optimist?

“He forgot that I like to see him after playing Siebel, which means it wasn’t important to him, which means he doesn’t take me seriously, which means he doesn’t love me.”

That seemed like a fairly quick escalation. “Christine, I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation…”

“I am going to throw his roses in the trash!”

“Christine!”

“They’re all wilted now anyways,” Christine said. She burst into a fresh batch of tears. “No matter how much water I give them…Everything…dies….”

Erik tried to calm her down for half an hour to no avail. Eventually he accepted the inevitable.

He was going to have to give Raoul back.

* * *

 

Raoul was annoyed when Erik told him he would have to wait for Erik to cut up all the meat before he could do his knifeless cooking, but other than that, he seemed to be pleased at the ingredients and the invitation to cook.

It wasn’t the first time Erik had untied him that week, but mostly when he’d been untied previously it had been for short periods of time and with a gun covering him. He seemed happy to have freedom of movement (for the first five minutes in the kitchen he did zero cooking and just stretched his limbs) although he did have some complaints about how he was still developing sores and Erik hadn’t given him enough ointment.

“Put on your own damn ointment,” Erik said, handing him the container.

“I will, thank you, and I’ll be more generous than your delicate little bone hands,” Raoul said. He smeared ointment all over his wrists, then turned to the counter. “Right then. Let me see what you brought.”

He rifled through the ingredients before ordering Erik to hand him a variety of bowls and spoons, which Erik huffily did, since Raoul after all did not know the layout of the kitchen. Then there was a lot of measuring and stirring and kneading before eventually they put the meat in the crust in a pot and put it all in the oven.

“So,” Raoul said.

“So?”

“Are you going to tie me back up now? That seems to be our usual.”

“Are you going to try to escape?” Erik asked, raising his eyebrows behind his mask. He was sure Raoul could hear it in his tone.

Raoul shook his head. “I’m not even sure where all the doors are in here, and the Siren in the lake would probably kill me.”

“It probably would. Fine then. No point in tying you up.” Erik sat down at the dining room table. “Actually I’m probably returning you today.”

Raoul frowned. Leaning over the table, he said, “Returning me? So what, you’re going to just…dump me back on the street where you attacked me?”

“If you prefer that. Frankly I thought I’d just let you loose in the opera house. Christine could probably use a visit. She was a little hysterical.”

“Hm,” Raoul said. “Do I get my clothes back?”

“I think the stain on your shirt is probably permanent.”

Raoul shrugged. No big loss—it wasn’t the best shirt anyway. He said, “So, what was the whole point of this kidnapping anyway? I mean. Christine said when you kidnapped her there was this whole thing about her being your voice and the two of you being soulmates or something. I wasn’t asking because you said you didn’t want to tell me but as far as I can tell my being here has been completely pointless. I mean, not that it wasn’t fun…”

“It was not supposed to be fun.”

“I mean,” Raoul corrected himself, “Not that it wasn’t traumatizing but I really don’t see the point.”

“Maybe I just kidnapped you to keep in practice?”

“Is that a thing you do?”

“None of your business,” Erik said. “At any rate I can kidnap anyone I want whenever I want. And you would do well to remember that.” He glared at Raoul severely.

“Are you saying you’re going to kidnap me again?”

“Maybe, if I want to. I can!”

“You know,” Raoul said, “If you want company you could always just ask me or Christine to come down politely. I think there’s also this Persian man who wants to talk to you. He keeps on popping up to talk to Christine…”

“Not the daroga,” Erik said, shuddering.

He had not considered that Raoul might visit again of his own will. Why would he? They barely knew each other. Besides, that hadn’t been the point of this kidnapping at all. He’d only done it because he was mad at Christine, not for any other reason. Certainly he wasn’t lonely. That was ridiculous.

When the pie was ready, they let it sit for about ten or fifteen minutes before cutting into it. It had turned out very good, warm and filling. Erik didn’t compliment it, but he didn’t criticize it either.

Raoul, of course, praised himself. “This is so good. You should eat better food, you know. It would definitely be improve your aesthetic.”

“Oh really?”

“Good food makes everything much less creepy.”

“My aesthetic is supposed to be creepy,” Erik said. “I’m an opera ghost. Your aesthetic is just vaguely warm and friendly and stupid, which doesn’t suit me at all. I’m supposed to be cold, intimidating and refined. It’s a fragile balance.”

“Cold, refined people still have good food,” Raoul said. “Maybe not meat pies. I could make you a quiche next time.”

As if there would be a next time. Erik huffed. “Come on. Finish up. I need to take you back to the surface.”

“Oh good, I’ll finally see where the door is.”

It was a secret switch that opened the door out of the house. Even having seen it operated, it was unlikely Raoul would be unable to find it again. So if he were kidnapped again—not that he necessarily would be—Erik would still have little trouble keeping him captive.

As they walked through the tunnels back up to the opera house’s upper levels, Raoul quietly sang to himself for the first time since his kidnapping. “Vin ou bière, bière ou vin, que mon verre soit plein!”

“You know that song is supposed to be kind of disgusting, right?” Erik said.

“It’s a good song. It’s one of my favorites…”

“Of course it is,” Erik said. “Of course it is.” With a shake of his head, he said, “Then next time I will not waste my good wine on you.”

“So there is going to be a next time. That’s a little frightening.”

“Like anything frightens you. Idiot.” Erik started walking faster so Raoul would have to struggle to keep up. But he continued the song from where Raoul had left off. Perhaps, out of politeness for his company, he could eschew his aesthetic taste for a couple minutes at least. He could sing more dignified arias later.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware everyone is pretty damn OOC here (especially Christine, good Lord) but I hope you still enjoyed it because for me it was pretty fun to write this mess. Someday, I may write an E/R fic with no kidnapping. Today, however, was not that day.  
> I'd really like to hear from you in the comments, or over on tumblr @convenientalias. Cheers!


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